Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie. It hurts so bad, and Joel can’t stop whining about it to his mamas. It feels like there’s something in his wrist that’s all twisted wrong. It feels like his hand is too hot and his bones are getting too big for his skin.
There’s a pretty nurse, though. He’s a big guy with dark skin, and he leads Joel through a maze of corridors with all different rooms leading off them into a bigger room where there’s two beds. One of them is empty; the other one has a little boy in it.
The boy has white hair—Joel’s never seen a kid with white hair before! It’s so interesting—and a red bandana. He’s wearing a t-shirt showing a white bird with a long neck and a little furry rat with rings around his eyes that says “I am up to some nonsense”. (Joel’s very proud of himself for reading it.) The boy blinks slowly at Joel, like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing. Then he smiles wide, and there’s a couple missing teeth. Joel smiles back, his pain momentarily forgotten.
The nurse tells Mama Birdie and Mama Mouse to help Joel into the bed, and Mama Mouse picks him up under his armpits and sets him in it. It’s not very comfy; it’s all stiff and it’s sitting up too straight.
The nurse examines his hand and asks his mamas some questions, but Joel just stares at the boy on the other side of the room. “Hi!” he whispers. He’s trying to be quiet, so Mama Birdie can keep saying whatever she’s saying to the nurse, which is probably way more boring than making a new friend. “What’s your name?”
The boy tilts his head to one side. “You talk funny,” he says. “You talk… funny. I’m Booker Orion Octavio, but everyone calls me B Double O. If you wanna be my friend, you can call me Bdubs!” He looks proud, puffing up his chest at the end of his sentence.
Joel giggles. “You talk funny,” he answers. “You talk like all the people here. Why does no one here sound like me except Mama Mouse?”
Mama Mouse pats his leg. “Because we live in America now, baby. You have a British accent because I’m British, but we live in the USA, so we’re surrounded by Americans.”
Bdubs blinks. “You’re British! Like in… um… Peppa Pig!”
Joel giggles again. “Yeah! My sister’s Aw-strah-lian like Bluey!”
“Quiet down, kiddo,” says the man sitting next to Bdubs. “Your new friend is getting examined.”
Bdubs nods hard, and stays quiet for a moment or two. Joel counts to nine in his head before Bdubs speaks again. “Why are you at the doctor’s?”
Joel sighs, lifting up his ouchie hand. “I hurt my hand. Why are you here?”
“I fell off the– fell off. Off the monkey bars! And Daddy thinks I hit my head, so he took me here to check for a cushion.”
“A concussion,” his daddy corrects. Joel nods, pretending he knows what that means.
“Right, yeah!” Bdubs agrees. Joel grins at him. He decides he likes this boy.
“We’re friends now,” says Joel. “I like you.”
Bdubs grins back. “I like you too.”
[Morgan makes sure to get Booker’s dad’s number to schedule playdates. Her son just struggles so much to make friends; other kids tend to think that Joel’s too intense. He gets really stringent about how play should go and the other kids don’t always like that. Morgan wants to make sure that if he’s taking to this boy, he gets to see him more.]
“You’re a moron!” Joel laughs, throwing the couch pillow at Bdubs’ face. It smacks him hard enough to send him reeling, though it’s really quite soft so it’s not like it properly hurts him. When the pillow falls into his lap, he glares at Joel.
“You’re– you’re a mean– a stupid! A big dumb jerky jerkface who—” His sentence is cut off by the presence of a second pillow in his face. “Oh, now you’re really gonna get it!”
He jumps to his feet, grabbing the pillow from his sleeping bag, and smacks Joel in the shoulder with it. Joel can’t restrain his laughter even as he falls to the ground from the force of the blow. He catches himself on the couch.
“Gonna join us, Eefo?” he asks the birthday boy. Etho shakes his head.
“I’m good watchin’. You guys are weird.”
Joel catches, out of the corner of his eye, the way Bdubs droops. The pillow falls to his side and he watches Etho with a slightly sad expression. “Oh,” he says quietly. “We can stop.”
“Yeah, stop,” says Tango, rolling his eyes. Joel sticks his tongue out at him. Maybe he’s freshly thirteen, but you’re never too old to stick your tongue out at somebody who’s being a butthead.
“I don’t wanna stop,” Joel mutters. “I like beating Bdubs up.”
Bdubs turns back to him, some of the gleam returning to his gaze. “Yeah, well I’m gonna hand you your lunch! I’m gonna shake you down for your pocket change! I’m gonna– I’m gonna—”
“Are you gonna come up with a better threat?” Joel goads. He just needs to keep Bdubs’ attention on him. Everyone else can focus on Etho, as they probably should be considering it’s his birthday, but Bdubs… Bdubs should always be looking at Joel.
[Maybe he’s too young yet to name the warm feeling that grows in his chest when he looks at Bdubs. To give voice to the ugly, caustic part of him that hates the way Bdubs looks at Etho, and thinks about Etho, and talks about Etho– all the time, Etho this, Etho that. He chews on it like sunflower seeds, trying to swallow the bitterness with his cherry soda. He’s too young. But soon.]
The provocation does its job, because Bdubs raises his pillow again, stepping over Skizz—laying in his sleeping bag pretending he doesn’t get a kick out of this stuff—and swings at Joel. Joel ducks below it and then his pillow connects with Bdubs’ side, though not hard enough to knock him off-balance. Bdubs pursues further.
It’s not until Bdubs has him in a headlock, smashing the pillow into his face over and over as Joel laughs (and laughs, and laughs) that Joel finally says, “alright, you win!”
Bdubs releases him and they collapse together into their own sleeping bags, side by side. As always.
That is the thing, the thing that Joel’s never been able to really process or understand. He takes it for granted, because it’s been them since they were five years old. Wherever one of them went, the other was never far behind. Joel would come home from school and rush through his homework so he could write Bdubs a letter, and then he would beg Mama Birdie to drive it over to Bdubs’ house. And she would come home with one from him as well.
[Joel doesn’t know that Bdubs keeps all those letters in a box under his bed. Bdubs doesn’t know that Joel hides them in his pillowcase.]
As they fall asleep, their hands pressed together through two layers of nylon, Joel imagines that they’ll run off someday, just the two of them, where no one can bother them. His favorite dreams are those.
Joel’s just circling back to the band room to pick up his drumsticks for the weekend. He didn’t mean to hear it. He wasn’t eavesdropping.
He just… didn’t leave when he realized it was Bdubs in there.
“He’s a dick, you know that right?”
It’s not a voice Joel recognizes. Probably some nobody from marching band who Joel wouldn’t recognize even if he could see his face. He hesitates for a moment when he hears the voice, lingering on the other side of the door, not wanting to interrupt, and when the other person speaks, he freezes, his hand inches from the handle.
“Yeah,” Bdubs says. “Joel’s always been a dick. He yells, he– hits people a little too hard, he cracks jokes at your expense that you can never really tell if he means. He just– he– him brain not build—” Bdubs sighs, that sigh that Joel knows so well, when the words are all jumbling in his head and he can’t make them come out of his mouth the way they’re supposed to. Joel wishes he could slip his hand into his friend’s and remind him to take his time. The words will come.
Then his brain catches up to him, and he realizes what Bdubs said. He deflates, all the fondness and sympathy leaving him in a rush. Bdubs thinks he’s a dick? After twelve years of friendship? How long has this been the case? How long has Bdubs been lying to him?
His hand wraps around the handle and he presses it down, ready to burst in there and give Bdubs a piece of his mind, other rando be damned. But then Bdubs starts to talk again.
“His brain isn’t built for affection the same way the rest of us are. He’s just different.”
“Why are you still friends with him? He’s not a good person.”
The vitriol in Bdubs’ voice when he answers is so intense that Joel can picture exactly which face he’s making. “You don’t dare to say such things about my best friend!” he shouts. Joel’s gonna get whiplash from how quickly his emotions make a left turn into deep affection and warmth for Bdubs.
“Just because Joel doesn’t express himself like you do doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. He’s not nice, but he cares, and he’s special, and I like him. Don’t talk bad about him to me. The next time you say somethin’ like that, I’ll deck you. Try me.”
Whoever cornered him scoffs in disgusted irritation. “Right, cause you just want to kiss him. What a weird fag. I’ll see you later.”
And then there are footsteps traveling rapidly toward where Joel’s currently standing on the other side of the band room door. He doesn’t have time to hide. The door swings open and some kid he doesn’t recognize almost walks into him. He pulls up short, looking at Joel with wide eyes before his expression quickly drops into something smug and laced with malice.
“Hey, Booker, your boyfriend’s here. Have fun with whatever nasty gay shit you’ve got going on,” he calls over his shoulder. He shoves past Joel, shoulder-checking him as he goes. Joel forces himself to ignore him, despite the rage bubbling under his skin, and goes to find Bdubs instead.
Bdubs, who’s standing in the center of the empty band room, shaking. His teeth are gritted, his face contorted into an expression of rage and pain and weariness, his hands balled into fists.
He needs softness right now. And Joel’s not good at that, but if he can do it for anyone, he’ll do it for Bdubs. He can. He can.
He strolls through the rows of music stands arranged in a half circle to stand in front of Bdubs, frozen in the middle of the third row of the wind section. “Dubs,” he whispers. “Talk to me.”
Bdubs looks past him, his jaw clenched but his lower lip trembling. He doesn’t answer. Joel nudges him. “C’mon, Bdubs, it’s just some arsehole. I don’t even know who that is. Dunno how or why he decided he hates me.”
Bdubs shakes his head. “No, it’s– I’m not– he’s—” There it is again, that frustrated sigh, this time laced with a sharp edge of chagrin, like he’s fighting the tears. Joel’s sat next to him through enough meltdowns that he understands what’s coming. He reaches for Bdubs’ hand and gently pries his fingers apart, massaging his aching knuckles.
“It’s okay,” Joel says. He feels terribly out of his element, but this is Bdubs. His best friend. He’s gonna do this for him. He’s not the person that guy thought he was. Bdubs wouldn’t like him that much if he were. “Take your time, mate.”
Bdubs is still staring off into space. Joel drops his right hand and reaches out to grab his jaw, turning his head so he’s looking at Joel. Bdubs swallows, seeming to come back to himself, if only a bit. His eyes look hollow, as if everything that makes him Bdubs has been scooped out from behind them. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then he says, “Joel, I’m gay.”
It’s not even that he didn’t know. He just… well, he wasn’t expecting Bdubs to say it now. He’d wondered. He’s always been a bit fruity, to say the least, and he never really talked about girls. Even when Joel was talking about girls. Even when Etho was talking about girls. Even when everyone around him was talking about girls, he kind of just… stayed quiet. Said nothing.
Joel didn’t know know. But he suspected. He wondered.
[There’s something inside him that calls to Bdubs like his kin, that says you are my family, my chosen. Something that says “I have two mums. You have two dads. Maybe we were always meant to be this way.” Something that recognizes Bdubs as a twin flame.
There’s something inside him that echoes in Bdubs’ chest. They’ve always been mirrors of each other, a bonded pair. Inseparable in every sense. And Bdubs knows that no one will love him through this secret more than Joel, not even his dads.]
Bdubs releases his fist and leans forward, dropping his head onto Joel’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “He’s wrong. I know you’re not my boyfriend.”
Joel takes his hand. “It’s okay, Bdubs. He’s a jerk. Let’s go home.”
He leads Bdubs out of the school and drives him home. He stays for dinner with Josh and Carey, and the whole time, he wonders if there’s a hole in his chest, throbbing in time with the words.
I know you’re not my boyfriend.
He’s not. So why does he keep thinking about it?
Bdubs goes to uni five hours away. Joel’s excited for him, really. He got into his top choice, which has an incredible architecture program. Despite what most people would expect from him, he had a three-point-nine in secondary.
Joel stays local. He goes back home and visits his mums on the weekends. He works hard in his classes. He wants to show Bdubs that he can do it, too. He wants to show himself.
It’s just… hard, sometimes. Being so far away. They still text every day, but it’s not the same.
So he waits. His moment finally comes during sophomore year, the last day of classes before Bdubs’ Christmas break. He has a 3 p.m. lesson, then he’s free. Joel’s driving half the day, but he gets there at 3:52. He sits in his car in the parking lot next to the architecture building—they have a really nice campus—and waits patiently for Bdubs to arrive. His surprise is tucked away in his bag, ready for him to show Bdubs exactly how much he means.
[He’s not too young anymore. In fact, he’s all too aware, the realization hitting him suddenly the day Bdubs left for uni, exactly what that tangled knot of emotions that sits behind his sternum means. Beyond that, he knows there’s no escape for him now. The ivy has been wrapping itself around his bones for fifteen years, and now it’s as much a part of him as the green streak in his hair. Bdubs is a part of him.]
When Bdubs steps out of the brick building, Joel can read his body language even at a distance. He squints at Joel’s car, clearly asking himself is that Joel’s car? and when he catches sight of Joel behind the glare on the windshield, his expression clears and he starts to jog.
“What the heck are ya doing here?” he demands the second the passenger door closes behind him. “You didn’t say you were coming up.”
Joel grins at him. “It’s two weeks for Christmas and New Year’s. I’ve got somefing for you.”
Bdubs shakes his head in disbelief, strapping himself in. “Drive me back to the dorms, I’ve gotta get my stuff together. I assume you’re taking me home then?”
Joel shrugs one shoulder, but he can’t keep the satisfied smile off his face as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Your dads wanted to see you. They said you were coming home.”
“Yeah, but I was gonna take the train,” Bdubs sighs, just a few degrees off from whining. Joel rolls his eyes.
“Don’t pretend like you’re not thrilled I’m here.”
Bdubs licks his lips, a longstanding nervous habit. “Maybe not.” He glances over at Joel. “Missed you.”
Joel’s smile only grows, until he’s sure he looks like a serial killer. (Bdubs is attractive when he’s smiling; Joel’s a lot more attractive when he’s not.) “Missed you too,” he answers.
Conversation is easy between them, even after not seeing each other for almost six months. That’s the thing with him and Bdubs—they can always fall back into their old rhythms. The drive to Bdubs’ flat is only a few minutes, and then it’s up the stairs to the second floor, and Joel shoulders his messenger bag, one hand on the strap, and he waits patiently in Bdubs’ living room as Bdubs pulls together his suitcase.
Then Bdubs steps out of his room, dragging his suitcase behind him, and he says, “kay, let’s head out.”
Joel stops him with a hand on his chest. “Wait,” he says quietly. “I’ve got somefing for you.”
Bdubs licks his lips again. “You said that earlier.”
“I’m gonna give it to you.”
“It can’t wait ‘til we get home?”
“No.” Joel’s firm on this. If he doesn’t do it now, he never will. He’ll tuck the very expensive purchase away in a corner of his room and never touch them again, never tell Bdubs they were there, never release the pressure of these feelings in his chest. “I’m giving it to you now.”
He lifts the flap of his shoulder bag and pulls the box out. Seventy-two Copic markers. Joel doesn’t get why Bdubs needs so many of the same colours—[he’s colourblind, they’ll find out later]—but Bdubs wanted them. Joel saved up for a year to get them for him.
“These are so expensive, dude, what the fuck?” Bdubs demands. He doesn’t look mad. Joel thinks.
He just shrugs, trying to pass it off casual. “You asked for them.”
“Yeah, like six months ago!”
The room is quiet for a moment as the weight of that statement sinks in. Then Bdubs lifts his hands off his suitcase and up to cup Joel’s face. “You’re crazy,” he says evenly, and then he kisses Joel so hard he drops the markers.
“There’s only like five colours,” Joel argues on the drive back home. “There’s no way you need all of those.”
“I’m making you take a colour blindness test the second we’re out of this car,” Bdubs threatens. “Your eyes don’t freakin’ work.”
“Pfft,” says Joel. “As if.”
Bdubs, it turns out, is right.
